


Change

by Chemical_Defect



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Doubt, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Explicit Language, Feelings, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Insecurity, John's POV, Love, M/M, POV John Watson, Rough Sex, Sherlock Holmes Has Feelings, past depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:14:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14735915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chemical_Defect/pseuds/Chemical_Defect
Summary: Sherlock spends 2 days in his Mind Palace.Change is about to happen.





	1. Two days.

**Author's Note:**

> Rating and tags may change.  
> This work is unbeta'ed, unbrit-picked and written on no sleep. All errors are mine.  
> ...And quite obviously, I do not own these characters.

Outside the windows of 221b Baker Street, the hussle and bussle of the city proved to John that he was not trapped in a silent universe despite what Sherlock’s still and quiet form might lead to think.

Aside from the rise and fall of his chest, no sound, no movement came out of him.

Sitting in his chair in a crisp black suit and white shirt, his eyelids were closed but Sherlock’s eyes visibly moved underneath, another proof that he was fully functioning if unaware of the outside world, not to mention of John’s presence. Beside him, the tenth cup of tea John had made had gone cold, and the plate of food he’d put next to him remained untouched.

Had it been the first time that Sherlock used his Mind Palace that way, John would have been downright terrified, voice hoarse from screaming his terror. It was, however, the first time that Sherlock had stayed in that state for so long a time – two days.

What could possibly be so important?

 

 

There were a small number of advantages to Sherlock being in his Mind Palace, the most important one being, in his opinion, that he could bask in Sherlock’s gorgeouness, the inconvenient being that he was clothed.

John had, no matter what Sherlock said, a particularly vivid imagination when it came to certain topics – and imagining Sherlock in various states of undress and indecent scenarios was one in which he excelled.

 

 

Returning to the companionable routine they once had was difficult in the extreme after everything that had happened in the first few months following Sherlock’s unexpected and welcome pull back from the suicide mission he otherwise would have had faced.

They had been walking on eggshells around each other for a few days once John had decided to move back in with Rosie to live in Baker Street with Sherlock, no matter how often both had apologised for their behaviour.

John had needed time after Mary’s death to finally accept Irene Adler’s words but he’d come to face and embrace them, and gladly heed the advice Mary had given him.

 

Over the few months of their now fully consumated relationship, John had acquired more mental images to fuel his fantasies and keep his imagination running wild, but also more information on the man he now shared his bed and life with.

Nevertheless, Sherlock kept on surprising him in every way.

 

With a sharp intake of breath, Sherlock opened his eyes, determination etched across his face.

‘You okay, love?’

‘Hm?’

‘You were out for two days straight.’

Sherlock smirked and John rolled his eyes.

‘Grow up. What was all that about then?’

‘I need to go shopping.’

John snorted.

‘You what?’

‘You heard me perfectly, I’m not saying it again.’

‘You’re going shopping. Let me -’

‘I’ll be back soon.’

‘On your own?’

‘Don’t state the obvious, John. It’s boring.’

‘You sure?’

‘And don’t make me repeat myself,’ he stood up, walking over to the peg where his scarf and coat were hung.

John shook his head.

‘Two days in his Mind Palace and all he comes up with is “I need to go shopping.”,’ he grumbled under his breath.

‘John?’ Sherlock called, putting his coat on and looping his scarf around his neck. ‘I know I’m hardly one to voice sentiment. Nevertheless, I will miss you.’

 

John stopped grumbling and turned to face Sherlock – who had already gone through the front door.

Something was off.

 


	2. I want to know why.

 

 

John looked in on Rosie who was sleeping soundly in her room, surrounded by an army of teddy bears should her sleep prove difficult and he unable to provide comfort.

She’d been one of the two reasons John had needed his relationship with Sherlock to go slow: at such a young age, another major change in her life was momentous.

John also had wanted to make sure of this relationship before taking things further – his friendship with Sherlock being the most precious he’d ever had.

While in the beginning he’d had his doubts in starting a relationship with Sherlock due to concern for Rosie, John was happy with the positive direction their lives were taking: coming home to his child and his partner after a day’s work at the clinic felt like the most natural thing in the world and so did leaving Rosie with Mrs Hudson as the two men rushed to a crime scene to give a helping hand to Scotland Yard.

John had had to make some ground rules before they moved in – logical habits, even more so in the presence of a child: Sherlock no longer played the violin at odd hours, had to keep to a sleeping schedule, eat on a regular basis, his experiments in their flat were not to involve any dangerous chemicals and keep the kitchen table clear so that they could use it as it was first designed for.

Life was good.

 

Why then had Sherlock been so withdrawn lately? Spent two _bloody_ days in his sodding Mind Palace, avoiding John and Rosie? What was with his sentimental admission – utterly out of character as he rarely ever voiced his feelings even in an intimate context?  
John was happy with their lives – but was Sherlock?

He’d mentally disconnected from them and was now actively doing so – in shopping, of all things. There couldn’t be any activity in which Sherlock was less likely to engage, especially on his own.

John had had to insist on going shopping for Christmas – assuring Sherlock that he would come with him, that they wouldn’t be out for too long and that they would avoid crowds if at all possible.

Sherlock had scoffed at that last one – but he had agreed in the end.

Unless Sherlock had meant that he would miss John because he knew that his going shopping would lead to John leaving.

Had he put too much pressure on Sherlock? Set too high expectations? His partner was _Sherlock_ , who by his own admission was far from being the most adequate person when it came to social conventions and much less feelings and relationships.

Had John really taken Sherlock’s personality into account? Given him enough space to be himself or had he smothered him into a mostly conventional family man? Had John driven him away?

 

His heart hammered in his chest as he went to the kitchen to have a glass of whiskey, pouring the amber liquid with a steady hand. He sighed loudly as he sat in his armchair, unable to stop the string of anxious, worried thoughts that went through his brain.


	3. Eggshells.

 

‘What about this one, Rosie? Where should we put it?’

‘This is beneath her abilities.’

‘Sh’lock!’ she exclaimed happily when she heard his voice. Seeing his daughter so happy made John smile, but it was weak and awkward as everything in Sherlock’s behaviour was highly suggestive of unpleasant change to their lives.

‘I can see you’ve kept busy,’ Sherlock commented, eyes quickly sweeping the array of toys littered on the floor of their living room. ‘And entertained,’ he added, arching his eyebrow, probably deducing John had had two large glasses of whiskey while Sherlock was gone.

John could not help but hear disappointment in Sherlock’s voice – he had swore not to drink on his own after he found himself fighting against depression following Mary’s death.

‘How was shopping?’ he asked as Sherlock took his coat and scarf off, hanging them on the peg on the door. John saw the slightest pause in his movement, the almost imperceptible twitch of his fingers as Sherlock turned around.

‘Difficult.’

‘I bet it was. Important business, I suppose?’

‘Most important, yes.’

‘Care to elaborate?’

The merest frown appeared on Sherlock’s face.

‘I’ll let you know in due time.’

‘Sherlock. Wh -’ his question died as Sherlock planted a soft kiss on his lips, brushing his arms.

‘Stop worrying,’ he said softly.

John cleared his throat. Damn, that voice…

‘I believe you two were doing something immensely educational when I interrupted.’

‘Do you…?’

‘I know you think that Rosie needs it, but her motor skills are fine, John,’ Sherlock continued visibly not caring one wit that he’d just cut John off. ‘It’s never too early to do experiments.’

‘Sherlock, we’ve - ‘

‘Talked about this, yes. Do relax, John.’

‘Speriments?’ his little girl asked, frowning in concentration as she tried to pronounce the word as best she could.

‘Yes.’

A beaming smile on her face, Rosie turned to her father.

‘Now, Daddy? Pease.’

‘O-okay. You sure it’s… appropriate?’

Sherlock merely sighed, seemingly not deeming his question worth an answer and went into their room. John shook his head, a feeling of hopelessness creeping over him. He’d gladly have a third glass of whiskey if it helped time pass more quickly so Sherlock could say his piece. But he’d sworn off drinking months ago and he was not about to risk it. He watched Rosie playing with the coloured shapes, easily taking them and sorting them into the correct holes. Sherlock was right, it was beneath her abilities.

‘That shouldn’t be -’

‘Chemistry, Sherlock.’

‘Problem?’

‘Children should already be in school to play that!’

‘Don’t underestimate your daughter, John.’

‘Fine. Show and tell, then.’

‘Obviously.’

 

John smiled weakly as Rosie listened intently to Sherlock’s explanations. No matter how absorbed or curious she was, his own crippling fear and emotions upon Sherlock’s imminent departure from their lives made him unable to feel even the slightest hint of pride and happiness at seeing them both so connected. _The show must go on_ , he admonished himself, trying to plaster a confident smile on his face to abysmal results.

‘I’ll go and make tea. And a bottle of warm chocolate milk for you, Rosie.’

He saw Sherlock’s brows knitting closer together – neither saying anything. _Not in front of Rosie_ seemed to be the unspoken agreement.


	4. The Reason.

He’d put Rosie to bed and she’d gone out like a light when her head hit the pillow. He watched her sleeping for a while, cowardly unwilling to join Sherlock in the living room.

As he heard a melody come up softly, he knew it was his cue to go down the stairs and face his fear.

‘You’ve made… supper?’

‘Excellent observation, John,’ Sherlock mocked lightly. ‘You were gone a long time. No anguished or restless sounds came from the baby monitor,’ he remarked.

‘I just wanted to watch her for a while.’

‘And delay your return downstairs,’ he observed, cocking his head slightly to the side. ‘May I ask why?’

‘Don’t, just – Don’t.’

‘I don’t understand.’

_Well that’s rare._

‘Out with it, Sherlock. Please,’ he begged, uncaring of how trembling his voice was, how fragile he sounded. Sherlock reached out to him and took his hand.

‘Why, Sherlock?’ _Why do you torture me?_

‘I assure you, John, you are overthinking. Imagining the worst likely scenario while it is – I hope – anything but,’ he uttered softly, his voice calm and low. ‘I’ve been shopping,’ he explained but John remained clueless. ‘For you,’ he specified, straightening his jacket in a swift motion before going down on one knee.

‘Stop. Don’t. What are you -’

‘John Hamish Watson -’

‘Oh my God,’ he murmured as he registered Sherlock taking something from the inside pocket of his jacket.

‘I’ve never been as happy in my life than with you -’

‘Is this really happening? Oh my God,’ he breathed.

‘I’ve always held cold reason above all else. You’ve shown me that there was more to life than just puzzles and mysteries. John, you are the light that guides me through the tortuous path of existence. John Hamish Watson, my star, my universe, will you do me the honour of sharing your life with mine?’

 

John had stopped breathing – or at least his breathing had become rather erratic, suspended as he was to Sherlock’s every word. He had wondered briefly whether Sherlock was cruelly mocking him and if he were dreaming or possibly dying.

He’d spent the day anxiously waiting for Sherlock to terminate their relationship. Lost in a thick fog of panic and anxiety, he’d let his emotions cloud his judgement and failed to connect the dots to arrive at the only possible solution.

 

‘Yes,’ he whispered but no sound came out of his mouth.

Sherlock nodded, his determined, serious face breaking into a large, luminous smile. His hands were trembling as Sherlock passed a silver wedding band to his ring finger which he then kissed reverently, small hot tears of joy coming down from John’s eyes as he breathed a sigh of relief and happiness when Sherlock stood up to properly kiss him, just as devoutly as he’d kissed his hand.


	5. All's well that ends well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this is the chapter that transforms the rating into E.

 

Laying on their bed, John could still hardly believe anything that had happened despite the evidence that Sherlock was very much staying.

He was showered in kisses – sweet, tender, open-mouthed kisses that quickly evolved into nipping.

‘Sher-’

‘Every inch of you,’ he cut as he continued kissing John, now adding soft caresses – which soon became more heated. John stifled a moan.

‘Want to hear you.’

‘Rosie...’

‘Fast asleep. I’ll turn the baby monitor off if it makes it better. I really want to hear you.’

 

John nodded and Sherlock continued, drifting downwards to a part of John which was highly interested in the proceedings. He felt Sherlock smile against him and lowered his gaze to look at the gorgeous sight of his fiancé.

Warmth erupted in him as Sherlock teased hot kisses along his shaft, swirling his tongue around its head and engorged penis while cupping and lightly massaging his balls, his other hand busy circling John’s erect nipples. John groaned. They’d done this countless times but it felt different tonight, more intimate, more intense, more…

‘More,’ he breathed. Sherlock obliged him, engulfing John in his hot, wet mouth, the hand on his nipples came down to stroke him in swift, fluid movements while the one busy massaging his ball sack moved to a couple of inches downwards. John arched his back, moaning loudly as Sherlock’s thumb softly pressured the tender skin.

‘All for you tonight,’ Sherlock whispered, ‘if you let me,’ he added increasing the pace and pressure of his mouth and hands, teasing the soft flesh of his arsehole with an inquisitive finger.

‘God, your mouth...,’ John breathed. ‘Come up here. Want to kiss you.’ John passed his fingers through Sherlock’s soft dark curls, bringing their lips together, his tongue invading Sherlock’s, the taste of his excitement lingering.

‘Mine,’ John growled, his strong arms encircling Sherlock’s waist.

‘Yours,’ he confirmed as John once again took possession of his mouth and pressed down Sherlock’s plump backside resulting in delicious friction.

‘Lube,’ John demanded moments later, panting. Sherlock obliged, liberally coating their pricks while John put his arm around Sherlock’s back, taking advantage of his casual sitting pose to switch their position and rub their pricks against each other in slow, teasing movements.

 

His hand went down to finger the soft, exposed bundle of nerves that was Sherlock’s rim, pressing his thumb in without much more preparation as he knew he would not encounter any resistance.

‘Had me worried sick. I’ll fuck you into this mattress to get it into your thick head that you don’t get to do that.’

Sherlock moaned loudly.

‘Yes!’ he cried as John put in another finger.

‘You’re all open for me. Won’t be playing with you much,’ John groaned, his other hand casually stroking his own prick. Pumping in and out of him with increasing speed and dedication, John had Sherlock moaning, groaning and almost thrashing under him.

‘God, John!’

‘Oh, I’ll take you. Make you mine. Fuck you six ways till Sunday, well into oblivion,’ he growled, possessively, dangerously as he plunged his thick prick into Sherlock’s arse, his powerful thrusts making the usually eloquent man under him incoherent.

‘Like that, don’t you? Hands and knees,’ he pulled out and Sherlock immediately obeyed.

‘Marvellous sight. Mine.’

Sherlock wiggled his arse, a silent plea for more.

‘Words, Sherlock,’ he admonished.

‘Take me, John. Want you. Need you,’ he admitted, pleading.

‘That’s more like it,’ John acquiesced, breaching into Sherlock once more, his hands on either side of Sherlock’s waist as he slammed into him vigorously, rodgering him senseless.

John’s hand went around Sherlock’s prick, his movements fast. ‘Only me, Sherlock.’

His partner – _fiancé! -_ was too far gone to formulate any kind of sensible word other than _fuck! God!_ or _John!_ but he did nod before going over the edge.

‘John!’

The sight of Sherlock’s sweaty back, his body pliant, John’s cock breaching in and out of him was incentive enough to make John come forcefully in a blindingly rapturous moment.

 

 

Sherlock lay boneless next to John who was much in the same state, both their breathing still uneven, their hearts still hammering in their chests so intense their encounter had been.

‘Want me?’

‘As long as you’ll have me, John,’ Sherlock confirmed, a satiated, happy smile spreading on his face – one John knew found its mirror on his own face.


End file.
